


Fall of a Swan

by Inkfire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Black Swan - Freeform, Death Eater!Narcissa, F/M, Rewrite, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkfire/pseuds/Inkfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the cruel world of the Death Eaters, Narcissa Black begins a quest for perfection and success. But can control lead her to the top, or will the darkness within devour her—will she fall all the harder for all she has risen? Between holding tight and letting go, she falls off balance, and loses touch more and more. AU, Death Eater!Narcissa, rewrite of the movie Black Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall of a Swan

**Author's Note:**

> *deep breath* All right. This piece was originally meant for PieceOfGum's Halloween challenge on fanfiction.net, which consisted in writing a piece that was inspired by a famous horror movie, book, or tale. As you can see, this is _quite_ the late entry, but I got there in the end. (Almost died in the process too…)
> 
> I chose to work on the thriller movie Black Swan. This is an AU piece in which Narcissa Black, due to both her family's impoverishment after her father's death and her sister Andromeda's estrangement having thrown shame upon the family, has no choice but to join the rising organization of the Death Eaters, so as to bring some honour back to her family and regain some much-damaged prospects for her future. Narcissa's character mirrors the movie's main character Nina, the broken Swan Queen, in her quest for success and perfection in a cruel world. (I always did love duelling vs. dancing parallels.) Lucius stands for her demanding, seductive and charismatic director Thomas, while Bellatrix's character is a mix of the two rival figures, embodying sensuality, the accomplished dancers with the ability to let go, which Nina so lacks—Lily and Beth. (Except that I took out the whole Nina/Lily subplot. Incest, no thank you.) You can also see the figure of the mother. Some lines come directly from the movie—Druella calling Narcissa "Sweet girl", "Attack it", the evil force taking control of Narcissa and her embracing it, the (minor) self-harming theme. The fic itself also follows the movie quite precisely, with many key scenes such as the training, the lipstick scene, the social celebration, then the party… Obviously, I don't own Black Swan, like I don't own HP. Just playing with it.
> 
> The end is purposefully vague—open to interpretation. I tried my best to go with the movie's surreal feel, full of hallucinations. Feel free to discuss what you think has happened in a review!

She stood with her back straight, her head held high, her face impassive. She had not received a mask yet, and eyes traced her features, curious, sceptical or leering. She ignored them all, keeping her gaze trained forward, on the one man who stood out in front of her. If he might be called a man at all, with his waxy features and bloodshot eyes, staring fixedly at her until she felt coldness flood her chest. Despite it all, she remained in control, her lovely face betraying nothing.  
"Narcissa Black," he said softly. "Kneel."  
She obeyed in one smooth movement, and extended her slim arm, which the Dark Lord gripped and coolly examined. They both looked down at her fair, unmarred skin, before the tip of a wand was pressed to it, and her eyes drifted shut. She squared her jaw and breathed deeply. The pain came as expected, yet she could not hold back a cry at the sheer blazing intensity of it; she pictured the cruel smile on his thin-lipped mouth—unless he deemed it beneath him to manifest his glee in such a way. Her limb burned and burned, until her head was spinning and she thought she might black out. But eventually, his wand parted from her flesh. He examined his handiwork, and she slowly opened her eyes to look as well. The Mark stood out, striking, against her milky skin.  
"Rise," he commanded sharply, stepping away. "Mr. Malfoy, step forward."  
Narcissa dragged herself to her feet as swiftly and gracefully as she could despite her wobbling legs, unwilling to betray the difficulty of performing that simple movement. She looked up at the man who was now facing her. Smooth face, flawless appearance and haughty bearing, he towered over her and considered her calmly, openly appraising her.  
"What do you think?" the Dark Lord asked, and Lucius Malfoy replied:  
"She seems to have potential, my Lord. Skill and steadiness, with some definite self-control."  
"You will mentor her, Lucius," their master softly stated, and Narcissa felt a chill run down her spine. How coolly they discussed her fate.  
"Indeed I will, my Lord, if you so wish," Lucius Malfoy responded in a murmur.  
His grey eyes seized Narcissa again, staring into her very soul, it seemed. She shivered. The deed was done, and she would now need to prove herself worthy.

 

******************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

"How did it all go?" Druella Black demanded, her eyes following her youngest daughter as she poured herself a cup of tea.  
"Very well, Mother," Cissy stated.  
She was in a hurry, and quickly arranged her cloak, checked that her wand was neatly tucked in her sleeve, breathed deeply in an attempt to slow down her frantic heartbeat. However, she still whirled around, a bit too fast, to give her mother a smile.  
"I received the Mark," she said, keeping her voice steady. "And Lucius Malfoy will be mentoring me. He promised he would turn me into one of the best."  
"How lovely!" Druella exclaimed, although her daughter was not quite sure the word was fitting to their current discussion. "Well, do be careful, Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy's power is only equalled by his ruthlessness, or so they say. He will be quite demanding with you… Making you his pet project, if you will."  
"I do not mind." Cissy looked away again, and heard her mother sigh.  
"In other circumstances, he might have wooed you, you know," she spoke in a faraway tone. "But in our current situation—after the… recent events, and with the state of the family’s fortune after your father’s death… Well. This is truly your best option, my dear. Your place in the ranks will give you the influence and purpose you would otherwise lack, so that your prospects may become so much more than what they are today."  
"Indeed, Mother."  
She could hear the faint smile in Druella's voice by then. "I am so proud of you, my sweet girl. You are dignified and flawless, and yet still willing to fight for your future—to cleanse our name of its former disgrace."  
 _To repair the damage Andromeda left behind_ , Cissy thought. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and composed her features as she turned around. "Thank you so much. Thank you for always being there for me."  
"You have no need to thank me," Druella said softly, and embraced her daughter. "I wish I could do what you can, you and your sister, to make the name of Black respected again. Go now, sweet girl."  
Narcissa walked away, leaving her mother staring after her, sitting alone at the breakfast table. The young witch hurried across the hall and out of the old, dark manor, rushing for the place where she might Apparate away. She did not spare a second glance to the once-grand family estate, squaring her jaw and turning sharply, vanishing into thin air.  
She reappeared near the current headquarters, and strode straight into the training area, ignoring the stares that followed her. There stood Lucius Malfoy, waiting for her, but her sister Bellatrix was the first to step forward. She dashed up to Narcissa, black curls streaming behind her, and squeezed her arms as she looked her up and down.  
"Welcome to the ranks, sister." Her dark eyes were glittering with promises—and laced with shadows.  
"Thank you," Narcissa murmured.  
"You are going to be _amazing_ ," her sibling stated with iron conviction.  
Then she turned, glares and defiance replacing pride and beams swiftly. "Why should I not be the one to mentor her?" she demanded aggressively.  
"Because the Dark Lord so decided," Lucius replied smoothly. "And now, if you would kindly depart. I have business with my new apprentice."  
Bellatrix fiercely glared at him, and he held her gaze without a flinch. When she whirled away, huffing disdainfully, Narcissa noticed her cheeks were flushed scarlet with frustration. She placed a quick kiss on her brow.  
"Make me proud, sister," she called over her shoulder as she strode from the room.  
Cissy had a small smile. She became impassive again when she turned towards Lucius, who was looking her over calmly.  
"Hello, Narcissa," he said evenly. "Well, let us see what you are good for."  
In a flash, he had his wand out and pointed at her. Caught off guard, she fumbled for her own, but rapidly found herself in control again, her stance perfect and a curse at the tip of her tongue.  
"At three," he warned her. "One. Two. _Three_."  
Lethal light flashed across the room. Narcissa deflected the curse he had thrown at her, sent another his way; he sidestepped and nearly got her at the legs. He reacted fast, with a controlled wildness that made his every move deadly, precise and yet very hard to predict. She was quickly overwhelmed, though she battled on fiercely, knowing she couldn't just give up. Eventually, her wand flew out of her hand, and a clever hex from him had her knocked to the ground, panting in shock.  
"Not bad," he stated coldly. "But there is room for improvement… Much improvement. Up, and again."  
Scrambling to her feet at once, Narcissa met his gaze. He had a small smile with a cruel edge to it. She smirked back, determined to learn. 

 

******************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

"No, you don't have it. Your moves quicker, wider, less restrained! You are fighting like an Order member!"  
Narcissa danced out of the way of a flash of violet light, sent two hexes back and nearly went flying under his counter-curse.  
"Retreat! What was _that_ —two curses in a row and still keeping your guard up, that would be too difficult for you, perhaps? You toss your fire, and up goes the shield! You only require more smoothness. Your duelling strategy is too choreographed, your patterns predictable—get wicked! Get wild! Stop holding back, just let your instincts take over! Let the darkness at the core of you lead your way."  
He kept barraging her with curses while he shouted his instructions, and Narcissa struggled to remain steady and not fall under his fierce attack. Her face was tense, her whole body taut, letting go seemed impossible… They fought surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, leering at her with obvious contempt. They all knew who she was, and probably thought that she only stood there, amongst them, Marked and Lucius Malfoy's personal apprentice, because of her sister's influence. They would all gladly have taken her down to get her place—and they could too. She wasn't safe—couldn't trust—couldn't relax. The only one in the room with no wish to get rid of her was Bellatrix, and there was fury, disappointment in her sibling's gaze…  
"Stop!" Lucius called, raising his wand. She froze, panting.  
"We'll try something else," he said authoritatively. "You are obviously having trouble breaking out of your pattern, and even more doing so without making yourself vulnerable. For now, I want you to forget about your guard. I will not attack. _You_ are going to attack me. Give it your all. Throw yourself into those curses, knock me over like a storm. I want to see you savage. Feel the evil force pulling you, the dark impulse. Set it loose. Let it flow."  
Narcissa swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Go ahead," he ordered her.  
She raised her wand, tried to take mere seconds to think before she sent the first curse. He deflected it easily, and she twisted and spun, struggling to take him off guard.  
"Still not it," he called. "Your curses are shallow, barely brushing the surface—darkness is deep and looming. The control is still there! Your duelling is all bound up and hindered by control. Where is the danger, Narcissa? Attack me! Attack it!"  
His words were hitting her harder than her curses him. Narcissa kept sending hex after hex, breathless, her heart hammering with fear and pressure. She could only see his face now, demanding and magnificent, the glint of his cold eyes. He raised his wand as if to strike back; mid-spin, she misstepped, and the next flash of light hit the wall, far above his head. She nearly fell over.  
"That's enough," he snapped. "Everybody, out."  
She could hear mocking whispers, even jeers as the crowd slowly made for the door. Cringing inside, she stepped forward as well, but Lucius gripped her around the wrist just as she was passing him.  
"No, no, no. You are staying," he murmured.  
They waited until they were fully alone; he was staring at her, but she couldn't bring herself to face him. He reached out, seizing her chin in a firm grasp, his eye meeting hers.  
"Narcissa Black. So far, you have been the most useless student I have ever had," he stated coolly.  
A slight shudder ran through her. She hoped he had not felt it. "I can do better," she argued in a faint voice, cheeks burning. "I know it. I have skill… technique. You know that, too."  
"Yes, I most certainly do. And believe you me, I care nothing about your technique," he responded. "It is flawless and it is not enough. You are not feeling it. The darkness. You keep yourself sheltered like a coward."  
"How should I learn to find it?"  
His lips tightened. "Let go," he said. "Allow instinct to take over. Bloodlust. Survival. You won't be able to control it, and all the better. You will refine it later. You want a real fight? Throw yourself in it. Strip it down, make it visceral. Live every second of it, with the utmost intensity."  
She nodded, her heart on her lips. His mouth curled as he surveyed her expression. "And now, out of my sight," he told her simply.  
Narcissa rushed from the room, light-headed. She ran straight into somebody, felt curls whipping her face—Bellatrix. Her sister faced her, jaw tense, eyes gleaming, positively livid.  
"What was that?" she asked roughly. "Do you _want_ to mess up and lose everything when you've barely just gotten started?"  
Narcissa felt like a little girl. It was hard to hold herself together, to keep up the proud façade. Inside, she could feel herself crumbling. "I've done my best," she defended herself feebly. "It was my first time… in a proper duel… with a Death Eater."  
"And good job it happened to be your mentor too, or it might as well have been your last," Bellatrix hissed.  
Cissy stared downwards, shaking. "I'll do better," she uttered in a low voice. "He…" She swallowed. "…explained. I can fix my mistakes, Bella, I'm sure I can."  
Her sister's lip curled. "I hope so," she said distastefully. "Because this is not only about pride, or even the family, Narcissa. Success and survival are tightly bound within the ranks."  
"I understand." She really did. She could sense the danger lurking, even now. It made her jolt and look over her shoulder.  
Bellatrix laughed cruelly. "Not getting paranoid, are we? Well, at least you are aware of the issue. You need to work harder."  
"I will," Narcissa vowed.  
Her sister had a curt nod, and walked away.  
As soon as she was alone, Narcissa leaned into the nearest wall, breathing deeply. But she could not afford to linger there, or to show weakness, and so she moved forward again, desperately wishing she could Disapparate from there already. In the corridors, she walked by fellow Death Eaters, some wearing their masks—they were not few. It chilled her, as though monsters were hiding underneath. She had her own mask, though, now—she ought not to be so childish. It only was engraved metal, charmed to be light and impossible to tear off by force…  
"…poor wee baby," she heard as she passed an alcove.  
"Real little girl, ready to faint. Malfoy could have tossed her around like a doll."  
"Well, maybe he's planning to. Maybe that's why he hasn't really hurt her—yet. 'Cause she let him have his wicked way." Crude laughter rung into her ears and seeped into her bones. She had frozen in place, unable to control herself. She had heard the voices before, could recognize them—the Carrows.  
Humiliation was filling her, overwhelming her, along with a more dangerous kind of dread. The sharks were tasting blood.  
Cissy bolted away and eventually reached the exit, took a great gulp of the outside air. She spun immediately, not thinking to wait, and nearly arrived Splinched in front of the family manor. She rushed up the drive, the porch, through the foyer towards the stairs, her head pounding.  
"Narcissa, dearest."  
She screwed her eyes shut. She could not face anybody now, but still she slowly turned around, forcing a smile. "Hello, Mother."  
"How did the lesson go, my dear? Are you in a hurry?"  
"Rather tired, if I'm being honest." Her voice was too fast and brittle. She struggled to make it more even. "Yes, it went all right. We practised duelling for a while."  
"Ah. You have always been quite good at that, correct?"  
She'd thought she had. "Well, it is taken to a whole new level now, Mother. But I am learning."  
"Oh."  
"I am. I will be perfect." Her voice shattered on the word, and she was choking back tears.  
"Oh dear," her mother said.  
"It's quite all right, Mother," she managed. "A bit of pressure, that's all."  
"My sweet girl." And then: "I will ask the house-elf to fetch you some tea."  
"No need. I will be practising…"  
"Something to eat, too. I doubt you had lunch at the headquarters, and it is already late…"  
"Mother, really. Thank you. I'll be just fine."  
"Well then." Druella slightly moved to her, rested an arm on her shoulders, drew her into a brief, stiff embrace. "Go, sweet girl. Make us proud."  
She nodded, heart heavy and throat tight. 

 

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Narcissa hovered on the doorstep, looking across the bright, empty room.  
It was stupid of her to come there. She had spent so long, recently, down in the basement in the wide practise room—spinning and aiming and lashing out, going on and on until she stumbled and was bitten back by her own fire. Bellatrix had been there before her, had left books with margins dark with scribbled notes, some practical, some random, some downright rude. If she had left hints somewhere that might help Narcissa along the way, it would be in that room of strain and suffering. But it was something else she was currently looking for, something more volatile. Just a hint of her sister's strength, to feel more like Bellatrix—lethal, and unbreakable.  
Narcissa stepped into her sister's old bedroom. The bed was neatly done, but some of her things were still scattered on the dressing table, from her last stay—the night of Narcissa's marking. No elf had dared to touch them, all dreading the wrath of Miss Bella. Cissy glided across the floor and looked down at her sister's possessions.  
Slowly, she picked up a tube of lipstick. It was bloody red, such a striking colour. Although they would have complimented her fair hair and complexion, Cissy always kept well away from these, deeming them too rich and flamboyant, preferring subtler shades. It was stupid to waste time on such a thing; it was her sister's spirit she was after, not her feminity. Still Narcissa opened her mouth and slowly coated her lower lip with the smooth substance. She spread it carefully, and when she was done, pocketed the stick instead of putting it back down.  
A different girl stared back at her from the mirror, with brighter hues and confidence. Curses would spill from those scarlet lips, which now twisted into a small, quivering smile. Cissy's hands fluttered over the dresser, hoping to leave everything exactly as she had found it. Uselessly—if ( _when_ ) her sister came back, she was not the type to notice, nor to care, that something had been moved. Still. This empty bedroom reminded her of another and Narcissa felt wary of them both.  
She swept on her heel, and hurried out, dashing down the stairs and leaving the manor so she might be able to Disapparate. Narcissa reached the headquarters and strode through corridors, looking for Lucius Malfoy's familiar face. Eventually she spotted him as he was exiting a training room. He paused, raising an eyebrow at her.  
"Miss Black," he spoke coolly.  
"Mr. Malfoy," she uttered through a tight throat. "Could we talk?"  
He leaned his head in agreement, and she led the way to a room nearby. She turned back towards him as he was closing the door. He considered her with a calm, haughty gaze. "What is it?" he inquired.  
"I thought I should let you know that I have been practising." The sentence had sounded much better in the privacy of her own head.  
"And so you expect congratulations?"  
She hesitated, taken off guard. He had a slow smile, a predator's.  
"Convince me, Miss Black," he said. "I will believe it when I've seen it. And have some fire."  
"I do," she retorted defensively.  
He had a quiet laugh. She took a step towards him, incensed.  
"Show me your fire," he breathed. "You must set it loose, Narcissa. Or else it will burn nothing but your pretty little self."  
She tilted her head. Lucius Malfoy's face suddenly seemed too close. He had clear metal eyes and lips that were hard and sharp, a face made of arrogant, stunning planes. It felt as though this face were calling silently, with the same intent purpose as his words— _fire, set it loose_ —, as though the room had fallen off balance. She was falling, or he was leaning towards her.  
And then Lucius Malfoy's lips were on hers. She suffocated in surprise and his tongue slipped into her parted mouth, warm and sly. He was kissing her, and she was reeling, not feeling her legs. It seemed unreal. Then she reacted on instinct, under assault, and her jaw closed.  
He cried out in surprise. He stumbled back two steps, a hand covering his mouth. "You bit me," he croaked in disbelief, sounding extraordinarily less composed than his ordinary self. "I can't believe… Salazar, you _bit_ me!"  
He had a nervous kind of laugh, one that came out sounding sharp as blades. Narcissa's already racing heart jumped a little in her chest. She tasted fear on her still-warm lips, where the lipstick must have gone off. She didn't dare look if she had left on him a scarlet stain of any kind, she just bolted for the door and ran away. She thought she heard him swear in the distance, or it might have been her imagination.

 

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The sheer idea of facing him again had nearly made her physically sick with anxiety. She was shaking so hard, when she reached the familiar training room, that it was simply impossible to control the tremors any longer, and she had no idea how she might even hold a wand steady. Yet here she was, and there was no escaping it. Her heart in her throat, Narcissa stood before Lucius Malfoy.  
His face was impassive as his gaze swept over her. "Narcissa," he said. "Ready?"  
She absolutely wasn't, yet confessing it was unthinkable. Cissy bowed briefly and took her stance, nails digging into her own palm as she gripped her wand.  
They only duelled for a couple of flashing seconds before he interrupted the exercise. He circled her like a predator, and fear chilled her to the core. She swallowed, and attempted to breathe evenly.  
"Feel it," he told her. "Feel the magic, within me, within you. It is like sparks, deep in your insides, sparks running across your skin. I know you can perceive it, a little. Open yourself to it."  
He had stopped at her back. So very close, yet out of sight. His wand trailed along the length of her right arm, the tip warm from their curses.  
"Feel my magic, my energy whipping through the air," he breathed near her ear. "Take it in. And then strike. Let it flow from you."  
He suddenly gripped her arms. She had a small gasp.  
"You can't escape," she heard him whisper to her. "That evil force is pulling you that you can't escape. It's coming from the deep… Sense it. Get aware of it. Touch it with your fingertip, then your whole consciousness—let it brush your nerve endings, it could drive you mad, the _power_ … You can't control… You can merely unleash it. It's taking you, it's filling you, it's pulling you…"  
Narcissa squeezed her eyes shut and tried to open herself to the burning, the restless energy at the core of her. It wasn't easy to think with Lucius so close, holding her hard and tight, impossible to escape—her cheeks so very hot, her head spinning—but perhaps she should _not_ think. Perhaps she should just feel and _oh_ , she was feeling so much. His hand slid down and grabbed her wrist, imperious. She threw the curse without taking the time to ponder it, without precision. It blasted right through the moving target Lucius had set up. A rush of energy overtook her. It felt powerful, it felt _good_ , and she struck again, with one of those dark, lethal curses he had taught her.  
"Good," he breathed, and stepped away. The lack of his commanding presence at her back set her off balance, made her hesitate again. She forced herself into rash action, taking down target after target under his sharp eye, hearing him shout comments as though from a great distance, over the rushing and bursting sounds that filled her head. By the time she had destroyed them all, she felt light-headed, ready to collapse. They stood together in ringing emptiness.  
"Good," he said coolly. "I knew you had it in you. That is not enough, of course, but it is a step in the right direction. Get ready to give me some more of that bite."  
Her lips tingled as she panted in exhaustion, and he turned away.

 

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Carefully, Narcissa coated her lips with red lipstick, staring into her own face in the mirror.  
Satisfied, she put away the tube and surveyed her handiwork. She looked perfect—from lovely white dress to light bun of hair, along with every single detail of her outfit. It was what she did best, certainly, but there was a distance in her smile now as she noted the fact. She was not merely a pretty young lady any longer. She was more. She felt different, another woman beneath the smooth skin.  
As she moved around the room, a low ache in her limbs made itself known, anchoring the change within her flesh. Dancing would fast become tedious, but she trusted she could put up an act, and there was gratification in the soreness anyhow. It brought long hours of training to mind, flashes of light tossed towards her with apparent carelessness, urgency and swift moves and the fire of magic running loose in her veins. It was a taste of something bigger, wider, deeper—something _dark_ , and it left her pretty little head reeling, pounding and thirsting for more. Also, there was the glint of Lucius’ eyes as he coolly stated rebukes or congratulations.  
Lucius; she was to meet him at the ball. It was nothing official, or merely so amongst circles that cared nothing for pleasantries, waltzing and drinks. Tonight, under the noses of countless members of the Ministry, young and certified Death Eaters alike would carry out double-meaning, subtly-edged conversations, assess loyalties, create ties and weave the web of their ever-growing influence over pureblooded society. Tonight, Narcissa would be all at once daughter of an old, noble but impoverished and partly-disgraced family, elegant woman displaying the art of her own charms, powerful young warrior, preparing alongside her sister to fight for a better world, and Lucius Malfoy’s apprentice—under the wing of the mighty and the smooth-spoken.  
Turning lightly on her heel, she left the room and rapidly bade her mother goodnight before she departed.  
The fresh air of the night whipped her cheeks, soon to be replaced by the warmth of wide hallways and splendid rooms, all sparkling with light. She hurried through the crowd in search for Lucius, and found him engaged in small talk with a few prominent individuals. She remained a few steps back, while making sure he had seen her, and he waved her forward with regal ease.  
"Ah, Narcissa, good evening. Gentlemen, may I introduce Narcissa Black?"  
Polite murmurs echoed, and Narcissa curtseyed gracefully. Then his hand was on her wrist, for a mere second, and she took his arm like his gesture and look instructed. They stood united, mingling and gliding through the crowd, elegant and in control.  
"They are looking at you. All of them," he told her in a low, cool voice. "You are used to this, and yet not quite."  
"The public eye, but not the Death Eater circles."  
"You stand amongst a pack of wolves. Never forget. The common little dogs may bark at you, but the strongest jaws won’t be as obvious to spot… before they crush you, that is."  
She felt a little shudder, and, also, a thrill. Lucius’ arm was warm and firm in her light hold, a lethal limb in momentary idleness. "What would that make me, then? A she-wolf?"  
"A young Artemis, perhaps," he murmured. A wide smile curled her lips in a second’s abandon, and she found it hard to slide the dignified mask back into place.  
"And your sister," he added, "is Athena ready to strike."  
Cissy looked up with a start. Bellatrix was coming up to them, haughty and tall, without her husband at her side. She wore a stunning gown of emerald, walking the subtle line between revealing and appropriate, and her curls were pulled and twisted up, then rushing loose from the crown of her head and down her back. Her lips were painted red, red, red.  
"Cissy!" she called. "Come here, will you?"  
She had to let go of Lucius’ arm to comply, and she felt her sibling’s soft mouth brushing her own powdered cheek, her light, but strong arm on her waist for their brief embrace, her perfume like a cloud of troubling fragrance that made her giddy. Narcissa stepped back, and watched Bellatrix offer a hand for Lucius to kiss. The gaze the two shared seemed like a battle of wills, as always.  
"Introduced her, have you?" Bella asked dryly. "As what?"  
"My apprentice, and quite the promising new recruit," Lucius answered. "They all know what to expect from me, as you can imagine."  
"Surely I can. Narcissa is more," Bella drawled. "She is a Black."  
"As everybody will know from the minute they hear of her. I considered it unnecessary to emphasize the fact, unless you are worried that your family’s days of glory truly are quite forgotten."  
Bella flushed, glaring. "A Black is not a Malfoy’s possession or making," she hissed, "and shall never be."  
"Let your sister decide what she wants to be." He turned to her. "Come, Narcissa. I ought to show you around."  
Cissy hesitated for a split second, but followed. She could see Bellatrix’s glowing eyes and bitterly pursed lips in her mind’s eye as they retreated; troubled, she nearly missed the first introductions. The double-edged and tense exchange had rendered her quite uncomfortable, made her feel like a mere spectator instead of a protagonist in the design of her own reputation. She disliked the impression, but found herself helpless to dismiss it. Against anybody else she would have spoken up, confident in her own worth and demanding respect; but Lucius and Bellatrix both were equal to her in blood and superior in the magnetism of their personality, the importance of their power, and at their side she felt fascinated and small. Her slim fingers curled around Lucius’ forearm, and she felt a prickling at the back of her neck.  
"Will you excuse me?" she whispered to him. "I need a moment."  
He nodded, and Narcissa discreetly slipped away to the ladies’. After the packed crowd that had left her slightly claustrophobic, she expected to feel relief once alone in the small and perfectly clean restroom. However, her tension only increased somehow. For some reason she felt _messy_ : the mirror reflected her a face that was flawlessly put together, her dress flowed pristine and sleek—but some tension pulled at the edge of her lips, squeezed her ribcage, threatened to make her come undone. She was off, weak, out of place and those almighty wizards and witches, all sharp senses and keen eyes, would notice in a heartbeat. Her hands rose, trembling, and fell to her own swan neck, her frail shoulders. There was a shadow there, a hollow. There was something under her skin that kept the magic from running smooth, unrestrained. Her breathing quickened to the point of dizziness; her nails gripped, scratching at her flesh, mercilessly. She gasped and shook and leaned forward, seizing the glinting edges of the washbasin. The light twinkled off it in mocking flashes of perfection, taunting her.  
Then she could hear the sound of heels. She tasted panic, overwhelming and bitter. Narcissa rushed for one of the cubicles and could only slam its door shut in time to avoid being seen in what she perceived as a state of hideous disarray. She leaned against the dividing wall, light-headed. The floor seemed to be rushing towards her; it met her knees. She folded and rested her forehead against cool marble. Tired, she told herself. That was what she was—so very tired.  
Footsteps echoed close, paused, then came again and faded into the distance. She was alone. Narcissa wearily pulled herself upright and sat on the edge of the lavatory. She felt, with shaky fingertips, for the uneven marks along her neck and collarbone. Just an off moment, drifting back from faraway memories. As a young girl, she had known such rash impulses, that led her to clawing recklessly at herself, in a sort of daze that kept her from thinking straight and minding the consequences of her own actions. Her mother treated it as a shameful illness, used curses to make her nails blunter, though still long and delicately shaped to the eye. Bella would get angry or shake her head in exasperated confusion, and—and Andromeda wouldn’t speak a word, just touch the tip of her wand to the glaring red weals before anybody else could see them, and spell them better. She had always been a talented healer. Perhaps she truly was one, now.  
Narcissa was nowhere near as gifted and her grip on her wand remained unsteady, but still she muttered the proper incantations under her breath, too out of her wits to concentrate properly and perform them unspoken. She was doing it blind, but it seemed to her that she had succeeded in fixing most of the damage. She got to her feet and staggered out, stopping in front of the mirror again to peer anxiously at her reflection. The marks had gone. She was a sum of perfect parts again, but her eyes were lost, and she feared anyone could see right through her.  
She breathed deep, shutting her eyelids and tossing back her head, waiting for her maddened heartbeat to slow down. The rushing sound in her temples quietened, her slight tremors eased; when she looked again, she appeared almost entirely calm. Judging that staying any longer would draw much unwelcome attention, she walked out into the reception rooms again, and searched for Lucius. He soon stepped out of the crowd, heading for her.  
"Whatever took you such a while?" he immediately asked, pulling her along again; but he did not wait for her answer before they were snatched again by the busy exchange of introductions, and Narcissa lost herself with relief to the hum of social appearances.  
Politics were unfolding before her very eyes, and she watched and listened intently, determined to learn. The gazes of respectable family elders and of trained warriors scanned her subtly—or sometimes it was the two at once. She kept a smooth façade and a resolute look she worked to combine with her usual pleasant demeanour. It seemed that she was successful. As the hours drifted by, Lucius’ smile widened and satisfaction heightened his charismatic glow. She felt pale and listless in comparison, but did her utmost to dismiss the notion and remain focused.  
The time was coming for goodbyes, the night’s darkness briefly glimpsed from behind swiftly closed doors, handshakes and curtseys interspersed with meaningful looks and secretive nods of the head. Narcissa’s fingers subconsciously tightened around Lucius’ arm, and she leaned against him without even realizing.  
"You have done well," he whispered in her ear. "Shall I take you home?"  
She breathed her assent with light-headed pleasure. Her mind’s long and careful activity, coupled with the exhaustion of her earlier emotional outpouring, threatened to make her drowsy, and her legs were killing her. They departed together, walking under the stars to the end of the estate where they might Disapparate. When they found themselves in front of the Black manor, Lucius stopped at the gates.  
"I shan’t be long," he told her. "Some of us from the higher rankings are meeting up shortly to discuss the accomplishments of the night. I daresay that Rowle was quite impressed with the pair of us, he might change his view of Death Eaters and thus allow his own children to join more willingly. Some others seemed interested as well."  
"I am pleased to hear that," Cissy murmured.  
"You were at your best. Perfect young lady and yet warrior, under the glowing lights." He smiled. "Under those you shine stunningly. Now you only have to travel further into the darkness, Narcissa."  
"With you to show me the path, I shall," she promised.  
He leaned towards her. "Reach to me from the hidden crevices of your being, then," he spoke in a low voice. "Let me take you deep into the night."  
He was so close. She nodded, words failing her. Their breaths mingled in the cool air.  
He stepped away. "Enjoy the night, Narcissa," he said by way of farewell, "we are but its creatures."  
He slipped away into the shadows, and she remained standing there, her legs weak. 

 

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"Of course you have got to come," Bellatrix stated insistently. "The rituals of Samhain night are so very important. You can’t possibly miss that. No Death Eater can."  
"Very well." Narcissa looked at herself in the mirror. The woman reflected in the glass stood long and lean in a dark crimson gown, her fair hair half-pinned, half hanging loose. Behind her was her sister’s silhouette in bloody red, her dark mane set free. She turned and Bellatrix laced her arm around hers, tugging slightly in impatience. Her black eyes focused on Narcissa’s shoulder as the fabric shifted slightly.  
"What is that, Cissy?"  
"What is it you mean?" She looked in haste, and only found reddened skin. "Ah, mainly a small rash."  
"Is it?" Bellatrix’s grip was slightly too tight. "All right, then."  
"Let us go," Narcissa said.  
They met their mother in the foyer, lips set in a tense line and arms loosely crossed as she surveyed them. "Samhain is a time of excesses and wildness," Druella told them. "I wish you would not go."  
"Nonsense, Mother," Bella replied in irritation. "Samhain is a night of darkness, of magic, of exploring. The Knights of Walpurgis always have celebrated it, and so do we now as Death Eaters. If that is not ladylike enough for you, a battlefield certainly shan’t. And yet we made our choice, and the family approved of it."  
"Do not speak with disrespect, Bellatrix," Druella said sharply. "A cause and a celebration do not necessarily go hand in hand, or so I thought. Your enterprise is a serious one. An—attack is coming soon, is it not? This I would not dream of objecting to. Now—tonight, I wish you would remain home. Narcissa."  
Narcissa had felt uncertainty and a hint of fear before, but her mother’s intervention, instead of providing an excuse, seemed to ignite the tiny flame within her heart. In a flash she saw herself as she might actually have been, a lady deprived of her rightful influence, reduced to fearfully clinging to her respectability, as the only thing she would ever have. Then she thought of what she had now. Power, a path to follow, and Lucius Malfoy’s guidance.  
"I’m sorry, Mother," she spoke, "but I must go." She added on impulse: "Lucius will be there, you know."  
Druella’s forehead creased in a deep frown. " _Lucius_ ’ presence may hardly reassure me. He might be influential, but—I knew his father as a girl, I saw the maidens falling for him like dazed birds, and if his son is anything the same—" She paused in obvious confusion.  
Bellatrix tugged on Narcissa’s arm. "Let us not be late."  
They hurried past their mother, hearing the faint call of "Narcissa!" before the great doors slid shut behind them.  
"Breathe the night’s air, sister," Bellatrix said, grasping her hand. "Samhain’s magic is hovering already. Are you ready to celebrate?"  
"I am," Narcissa replied, though she felt faintly scared beneath the rush of adrenaline. She thought about Lucius, and something fluttered deep within her gut. She squeezed her sibling’s fingers tightly.  
They Apparated to the gates of a large manor. Cissy, peering into the darkness as they walked through the protective wards with their left arms raised, recognized a property of the Crabbes’. The place had been chosen for its wide grounds, where the celebrations would take place, and the mansion itself would probably have been left empty. Though it was surely a distinction of sorts to own the location chosen for Samhain, there would be no notion of a host—it was to be a night of wildness and raw magic, beyond rules and proper behaviour. Already, fires were burning high, sparks of light flying into the air. The night’s breeze made the sisters’ hair flutter. They walked faster, finding the other’s hand again, fingers interlaced.  
Some people were wearing masks, looking eerie in the flickering light—Death Eater masks, or different ones, with runes engraved on them, abstract flourishes, or bright, glaring colours. Others showed their bare faces fearlessly. There came a shriek of laughter in the distance; Narcissa shuddered, and Bella pushed a drink into her hand, that she had just picked up from a levitating tray. For such an occasion, no house-elf might show itself to tend to the guests, for its owner would then risk having their property slaughtered for entertainment.  
Narcissa took a small sip of her drink. The liquid slid smoothly over her taste buds and down her throat, overwhelming. She breathed deeply, squeezing her glass. Her heart was racing as she observed her surroundings; others were talking and laughing loudly, dancing to an odd, tribal beat, practising some magic of which she did not recognize the purpose. She felt out of place, but most of all she longed to find Lucius. She could hardly picture him in such a setting; however, she knew he had to be there. If she might only see him, everything would look different, tinted with his presence in less fearsome shades.  
Bellatrix had kicked off her shoes and taken out her wand, which hung loosely from her fingers, idle still, but ready. Narcissa had not noticed at first when her sister had let go of her hand. She wondered whether she ought to remove her heels as well; she disliked the idea, but they were walking in the grass already and she had no clue whether the ground was even or not. So she did as her sister had, her toes curling a little when they touched droplets of water from the latest rain.  
"Come on!" Bellatrix called as she strode without looking back, through the crowd. Cissy followed in a hurry, bodies brushing against her as she passed. She didn’t want to lose her sister; in that place, Bella was the only thing she knew or could deal with. She had almost forgotten her drink, and she sipped it hastily so she might leave the tall glass somewhere instead of having to carry it around.  
"Good evening, Narcissa."  
She stopped abruptly at the voice, and whirled in its direction. Suddenly, she felt very helpless and exposed, as his gaze swept over her. She was barefoot, out of place and alarmed, and she felt light-headed from the drink drained too fast; tonight she could not put on a show, or even a façade—he would see right through her, right down to the core of uncertainty and fear, to her vulnerabilities. She could not hide from him. She was too weak.  
"Lucius," she whispered, swaying a little. She blinked. "Oh, hello!" She was smiling, stepping his way in an attempt to regain control and be at least pleasant to him, but then she felt fingers closing around her arm. Bellatrix, back out of nowhere, pulled her sister along. "Hello, Lucius," she called flippantly over her shoulder, "and good evening to you!"  
Cissy thought of fighting off her grip, but the fear of her sister leaving her to navigate alone through this already wild celebration was too strong. She had to follow, stumbling in the dark, pushed and squeezed by the silhouettes of strangers. Bellatrix turned and took both of her hands, twirling her without warning, as she had when they were little girls; Narcissa docilely followed the movement. Then they were dancing, just moving erratically to the beat. It rumbled through Cissy’s chest, wrapped around her limbs, pulled and guided her into abstract motions. She drifted along, eyes half-shut.  
She thought a hand might have brushed her hip. Others were dancing with them, a whole mass of people shifting and undulating as one underneath the moon and stars, obeying some astral tide. Sparks of flickering light danced overhead. Bodies moved too close; she could sense the waves of heat rising from skin, smell ritual herbs and brewed perfumes, an edge of sweat. She felt everything so keenly, and yet nothing could anchor her, nothing seemed real.  
She was passed a drink, and drained it slowly but at once, feeling it flow through her like fire. And then she could see Lucius. His hair was fine gold in the silvery light, his features carved from some smooth surface, alabaster perhaps. She reached out her hands, but the distance was there, unforgiving. She tried to call out and her feeble voice was drowned into the beat. She staggered. Arms caught her.  
She fell back against a warm chest. It felt real: solid and tangible and real, rough fabric and hard muscles under her hands. She touched her cheek to it, fully leaning for support. Hair tickled her face—long, blonde. She smiled in the haze.  
The music never stopped, and Cissy moved with it. She turned and twisted and twirled, feet light in the darkness, arms drifting. She was being held, guided. Lucius’ face swam around the edges of her vision, pulling her in. He slipped away and she chased him, chest to chest, heart hammering in the Samhain heat.  
He caught her when her legs gave way—Lucius. Narcissa giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. A drink fell from her hands and her feet left the ground. She was carried like a princess into the night, the deep, deep night.  
Some franticness took her. Hands travelled and fabric was torn. Heat, weight, smooth hair she tangled her fingers in. Pain flared from her belly, lightning-sharp, and she sucked in a breath. A rough voice muttered something reassuring. She was being held, cradled. Then the thrusting began.  
Narcissa clung to Lucius’ chest and shoulders from a faraway place, in a blur.  
She saw twisting silhouettes from the corner of her eye, and then no more.

 

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Narcissa woke in her own bed, head heavy and gut aching.  
At first, she remembered nothing of what had previously happened; and even once her mind had cleared somewhat, she wondered how she had made it home. But surely Lucius had been the one to bring her back. Lucius: heat flooded her cheeks at the thought of him, and she twisted the sheets in her hands, without even realizing. She felt shame at the events that had transpired the night before, and confusion, yet deep down at the core she could not bring herself to regret. She had wanted this, and so had he, surely. The magic of Samhain had worked the rest.  
As mighty and awesome as that power was, it left her feeling quite wrong, a bit lost and in pain. But still she rolled out of bed, keenly aware that she had to go to the headquarters for training, just like any other day. The battle, the battle was coming so near. Just the next day, the raid would unfold. Narcissa stumbled to the mirror, and could not help a wince at the sight of herself. Her eyes were puffy with lack of sleep, her hair tangled and loose; the shadow of a bruise adorned her fair shoulder. She pushed the thin nightgown aside, wondering at the fact that Lucius had bothered to put it on her. The bruises formed a trail down her left side.  
Stupidly, she rubbed them in irritation, glaring. The marks could easily be fixed, with just a drop of magical ointment, but their mere presence gave her a wrong feeling, reminded her that she ought to be more ashamed still, to consider herself defiled. A virgin’s first night was no light subject; no maiden may wantonly open her legs and spill her pure blood for any other than the wizard who would be committed to her by marriage, and she had broken this major rule. She could have damaged her prospects even further, ruining the progress she had previously accomplished by joining the Death Eaters. Her only hope was in Lucius now—Lucius and the way he talked to her, treated her, the pride in his words, the heat in his gaze. They had come so close in the past, and now surely he wouldn’t let her down. An union of the Malfoys and the Blacks, between two young warriors of influence, might leave scandal and betrayal way behind them, forgotten, and allow her family to reach their former glory again, at last.  
Narcissa’s fingers curled around the shape of her own rib. She blinked, and for two seconds could not make sense of the angry red weals that branded her skin. Then she jolted and took her hand away. Staring at it, heart beating in her throat, she thought, with a sickening lurch to her stomach, that she could see a bit of blood underneath her nails. She fumbled for her wand on the nightstand for a few moments of panic, before she could find it at last. She should have erased the shameful blotches from her flesh immediately, but her first move was to hastily mutter " _Diffindo_ ", wand awkwardly pointed at her right hand.  
The nails of her index and middle finger were suitably shortened, before she could work on giving them a better shape. But at her third time performing the curse, the magic struck wrong and sliced her fair skin, drawing shockingly scarlet blood. Light-headed, she pushed the throbbing limb under running water. Tiny bloodstains had spurted over her dresser and on her nightgown, and she shook violently at the sight. Some fighter she was, Cissy thought with vitriolic derision, swaying slightly on the spot.  
She took several deep, slow breaths. She shut her eyes and counted in her head, forcing herself into utter stillness. When she lifted her lids again, the lights did not seem as glaring, nor the blood as gruesome. She picked up her wand again, and cleaned it carefully, every last drop. Then she got to work on her bruises and scratches.  
Narcissa was afraid and self-conscious, but she knew that she ought to go to the headquarters for training—she actually was quite late, though no time had been agreed on. The last day before the attack, and here she was, white-faced and shaking before her mirror instead of practising to the last second. Once she had made sure she was looking proper enough, she walked out into the hall and quietly slipped downstairs. She was nearly at the entrance when a voice suddenly called her name from behind.  
Cissy had to turn, forcing a little smile. "Mother."  
Druella did not smile back: she was looking pale and irate. "Narcissa, I have been so worried," she spoke. "The state you were in last night—"  
"It was nothing, Mother. I’m sorry," she quickly interrupted, her mind working fast. Had Druella seen Lucius take her home, then? Had she jumped to conclusions?  
"Do not dismiss me, young lady. Requiring to be carried home in such a manner—I could scarcely believe it…"  
"Mother, I should go. I have duties to attend to." Without waiting for the reply, Narcissa threw on her clock and hastened to the door.  
"Wait!" But she was out already, stumbling into the too-bright sunlight. Cissy almost ran, her heart hammering in her chest. She absolutely had to see Lucius; everything depended on it. She had to look deep into his eyes and make sure he hadn’t used her, make sure he didn’t despise her now. If she had Lucius, things would be perfect. If only. She Apparated, light-headed.  
The headquarters looked strikingly the same, although everything had shifted in her mind. Narcissa wanted to rush; but nearly at once, her sister emerged from the crowd, gripping her arm and halting her.  
"Thank Merlin. I was planning to come over if you took any longer."  
"Bella. Sorry, I don’t really have time to talk." Cissy tried to pull her arm free.  
Her sister stared at her. She had tired, ringed eyes, like everybody else around. "We are going to have to talk about this."  
"Yes. Of course, I suppose. But it is not you I must discuss it with most urgently."  
"Who would that be, then?"  
"Why, Lucius, obviously!" Though she was getting more and more uncomfortable, Narcissa had to stop attempting to get away, for she would have drawn quite unwelcome attention to the pair of them. Bellatrix gaped at her.  
"Narcissa, you cannot be serious!" She shook her arm a little for emphasis. "Have you gone mad?"  
"Bella, let go of me. This is really none of your business," Cissy retorted, cheeks flaming.  
"It is—I feel responsible for what happened. I brought you to the celebrations, but I did tell you to be careful! Didn’t I? I would never have thought…"  
"I must see him." Narcissa managed to break free, and hurried off.  
Her sister rushed after her. "This is nonsense. What are you hoping to achieve, making a fool of yourself?"  
"You are wrong. You bear no responsibility for my decisions. And I know what I am doing. Lucius is an intelligent, decent man. He will not treat me as though I were worthless."  
"Your decisions? You decided nothing! And if you think he shall respect you still—well, I cannot speak for him, but I find the notion doubtful. I am sorry to say, Narcissa, but you disgraced yourself last night."  
The fear and frustration were too much; she could not remain silent. "Salazar," Narcissa blurted, "you are jealous, aren’t you?"  
Bellatrix blinked. "I’m sorry? Whatever of?"  
"Do not treat me like a child. I have seen the way you are with him." So much tension in the air, so much competition—but nobody seemed to get under Bella’s skin like Lucius Malfoy. "Do you really wish I had lost all my chances, Bella? Is this where we’ve come to?"  
Bellatrix took a deep breath. "Narcissa. Be realistic."  
Cissy trembled with anger, hurt, anxiety. "Just leave me alone."  
"You can’t just sleep with a random man and expect no consequences!" Bella cried after her as she was turning away.  
Narcissa faced her again with an icy glare. "Lucius is no random man."  
Bellatrix blinked abruptly. For a minute she appeared utterly confused. "But it wasn’t Lucius," she said. "It wasn’t Lucius you were with. I don’t know whom—I only found you afterwards, brought you home—but it wasn’t Lucius, I am sure of that. I saw him."  
" _What_?"  
Cissy found herself shaking. "What a vicious lie."  
"But it’s not a lie!" Bella exclaimed vehemently. "Narcissa, don’t you even know who you slept with? I found you asleep with your dress wrinkled, no underwear—I did think I’d seen you kiss someone, but to _imagine_ it would go that far—that was certainly no gentleman. But not Lucius. I was with him part of the time, even."  
" _You_ were with him?" Narcissa’s anxiety was mounting so dangerously that the abrupt flare of jealousy was a welcome distraction. "What are you playing at, Bella? Trying to make me think myself mad? Is it him you want, to steal him from me?"  
"What? Don’t be so _absurd_! _Malfoy_?"  
"I’ve seen you with him." Those crisp sparks in the air, those looks. "You cannot stand to see me getting close to him, can you?"  
"Because all he wants is influence and power!"  
"What if he wanted _me_?" Narcissa hissed, tears in her eyes.  
For a moment Bellatrix didn’t seem to know what to say any longer. Then she pulled herself together. "Narcissa. This is nonsense, all of it. I cannot _believe_ you didn’t know who you slept with."  
"I saw him."  
"Did you _dream_?"  
The notion was appalling, impossible. "You are trying to trick me," Narcissa declared, convincing herself. "You want what is mine. My mentor. You cannot bear to see me become important, it has to be all about you."  
" _Narcissa_!"  
But Narcissa had turned, and she was running.  
On her way, she slammed into someone. The air flew out of her lungs and she would have toppled, but strong arms caught and steadied her. Heart hammering, she looked up and found Lucius’ face so close. After ensuring that she had regained her balance, he took a step back.  
"Hello, Narcissa," he told her. He sounded slightly tired, short, and not different in the slightest. Cissy swallowed, the weight of the impossible upon her lungs. She could not find breath to utter a greeting.  
"I suppose you’ve come for a last training session, before the battle," he went on. "I have a few things to settle with your sister over there, first. Then we might start."  
Cissy blinked; somehow, in the haze of her confrontation with Bellatrix, she had forgotten all about the attack. The idea of duelling, opening herself and even attempting to fight him, appeared impossible at the moment—she would crumble, explode, her power would tear a way out of her and she would self-destruct rather than to let it flash to perilous freedom.  
"I can’t, I—" Narcissa struggled for justification as he raised an eyebrow. "I am not feeling very well. Perhaps I should go home, rest so I might be in perfect shape tomorrow. I apologize."  
"As you wish," he responded icily, "but do not think that a celebration is any excuse to be neglecting our cause."  
He had walked past her before she could think of a response, and was striding to Bella, who hurried towards him. Narcissa shuddered and averted her eyes from her sister’s face, unsure of what she might read there. Concern may be even worse than imagined triumph, truth way beyond her ability to process it.  
Something was shaking in her chest, writhing in her gut as she stumbled home. The world seemed to be blurring before her eyes: it bore foreign shapes, writhing and hovering in every shadow, stretching out to grasp her. Reality was false and her sister was an enemy and she might be a worse one still, and her head had become so very heavy.  
There was a fight tomorrow: her one, crucial chance to prove herself, the fine point where all the progress she had made had meant to be leading her, the place where lay all the success to be achieved—and she could hardly even bring herself to care. Faraway, she floated.  
As she gripped the gates of the manor, for support or something real, she wanted Andromeda. While she dragged herself through the grounds, every movement from the corner of her eye became a source of terror. By the time she reached the doors, she thought she might just be going mad.  
Crawling beneath her skin, the fear, dark and gruesome. She tried to claw it out, but her shortened nails only caught the fabric of her robes.  
"Narcissa!" came an alarmed call.  
She went rigid. In the quiet of the entrance hall, footsteps echoed, loud as screams in her skull. Druella Black appeared, rushing to her. Her mother extended her hands, and Narcissa stumbled back. _Don’t touch me_ , she wanted to scream.  
"Narcissa, what is wrong with you? I can hardly recognize you," Druella exclaimed. She reached again in alarm, and Cissy recoiled.  
"Leave me alone," she mumbled. "Leave me."  
"Pardon me? You don’t even sound coherent. Where were you? Not training, you’ve only just left…"  
" _Mother_!" Her voice rose, dangerously high. She made an attempt to push past, and Druella gripped her arm.  
"What happened to the elegant, respectful, balanced young lady I brought up? What happened to my sweet girl?"  
"She’s _gone_!" she yelled with a vengeance. And Narcissa ran, stumbling, heels clattering upon the floor. She made it to her room somehow, charmed the door locked and leaned heavily against it. Shaking hard, she made for the bed and collapsed there. Frightening, hiccupping sobs were wrenching through her throat, forcing their way out. Her hands gripped helplessly at her own face, fingers twitching, out of control.  
She curled into a ball, rocking and trembling, and darkness took over. 

 

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When Narcissa awoke, she felt tired and warm, with a misplaced sense of safety.  
She stretched wearily, and then jumped. Her mother sat at her bedside, worn-looking and quiet. Their gazes met, and none of them spoke for a moment. Then Druella broke the silence. "Rest, my dear," she said. "You appear to need it."  
"What…?" Narcissa murmured hoarsely, but didn’t quite know how to end the question.  
"You must be overworked, a little ill. That is the only reason I can see for your current behaviour. You have been struggling in your sleep like one tormented by a fever."  
Cissy did not deny; it was easier. Her head felt so very heavy, and she could indeed have been sick. Her mother rose. "I have a few matters to deal with, but I will be back soon."  
She paused at the door. "And do not fret. I sent word to your sister and to Lucius Malfoy that you were not well enough to attend the battle today."  
It took a few seconds until the words sank in. "You did what?" But Druella was already gone.  
Cissy’s head was swimming and pounding, but still she could clearly see the consequences. Lucius, furious with her for abandoning him after all the effort he had put in her training. Her sister’s wrath—the Dark Lord’s punishment, even. But _Lucius_. And that fight, that fight to prove herself, that one chance she had so struggled to make possible. After coming so close, nearly earning her rightful place amongst those of power all over again, she would fall once more, hard and fast.  
From perfection, into nothingness.  
No.  
Narcissa rose. She walked, slightly light-headed, across the room, gripped her wand and summoned her mask and clothing. In a haste, she prepared, her heart beating in her throat. Then she rushed out. The door slammed after her.  
The shout of her name found her halfway down the stairs, and she only walked faster. She reached the foyer and her mother caught up, gripping her arm. She twisted around, breaking free. At Druella’s second attempt, she lashed out instinctively. There was a brief flash of light, and a cry of pain.  
" _Narcissa_!" But she was running, calling over her shoulder, more for herself than for Druella’s benefit: "I _have_ to go!"  
Then she was out, swiftly across the grounds, and she spun, sucked into the cool, early morning air.  
Noise, screaming assaulted Narcissa’s ears at once. She raised her wand and stepped forward. She could see people running, others fighting—Death Eaters, masks glinting, were everywhere. She aimed her wand at a nearby shop, a bit randomly, and sent a roar of flames gushing greedily all over the building. In the commotion, she sought Lucius. She found him duelling fiercely, somewhere nearby.  
As he quickly finished one of his opponents, she stunned the other and called, "Lucius!". He spun, eyes blazing, then he was grasping her arm and all but shoving her into a wall. She gasped.  
"Narcissa," he hissed, "have you gone _mad_? What business do you have shouting my name in the streets, in the middle of a raid?"  
"I’m sorry." She struggled weakly. "But I came. I always meant to come, Lucius, I was just—"  
"I don’t care," he cut her off. "We can discuss this later. For now, do what you have to. You know your position."  
"Yes." She had forgotten all about their plans in her franticness, but she remembered now.  
He let go of her. "Good." And then he was off, dashing through the crowd.  
Narcissa stumbled a little. She raised her wand, sent curses flying here and there. Hesitantly, she found her bearings and reached the part of the assaulting forces she was to assist: taking care of the shoppers and passerbys rapidly and efficiently, taking down the most serious opponents together, but leaving the most remarkable, well-known people to individual fighters such as Lucius, to magnify the impression of terror and formidable skill. She could do this. Her hand shook, but her curses were no less strong for it.  
She stumbled upon something, nearly fell. She looked down at a body, spread lifeless across the flagstones. The girl had blonde hair, fanned out and concealing her face. The tips of her curls swam in a crimson sea. Her body appeared wrong, out of balance—then she realized that one of her arms seemed to be missing.  
So much red, she found it blinding.  
Somebody shoved hard into her, knocking her breath away. Pain stabbed and spread through her chest. She thought she would be tossed to the ground, but an iron grip held and steadied her.  
"What are you playing at?" a voice growled in her ear. She only saw the blonde girl’s body, which she had almost flown into. She could have been dead on that dirty ground.  
" _Narcissa_!" Her sister’s voice, frantic. "You almost got _killed_! What are you standing there, staring at that scum for?"  
"What?" Confusion. Cissy tried to twist away, free herself from Bellatrix’s grasp, but the latter only pulled her arm more harshly. Pain shot up her shoulder and anger clouded her mind.  
Her sibling was hauling her into the darkness. Away from her task, away from herself—or that image of the ground, that corpse, red and blonde—away from Lucius. Stealing her like Andromeda had been stolen, leaving only Bella’s success. Cissy shook and tripped and raised her wand messily. She thought of Lucius. Everything he had taught her. All those curses, all that deadly skill so she might be worthy. Perfect.  
Power flooded her head. Her sister gasped and gagged against her. Bella’s hand clawed at her wrist. They struggled in the shadows, chaos unfolding just a few steps away.  
Bella let go.  
Narcissa remained there, standing, staring down at her sister’s form. Beneath the mask, it could have been anyone. It was anyone. Someone grabbing her, assaulting her. Her fear, or the voice of her own insecurities.  
She walked back into the fray, thinking Lucius’ name in a steady mantra.  
 _Let go, let the darkness take over. Let it wash over you._  
She twirled and twisted, in an aura of deadly brightness.  
She saw Lucius again, reached him. His mask glinted with the light from their curses. Perfect. She danced the dance of death, and felt his eyes on her. He knew her through the metal that hid her, always would. He knew it wasn’t Bella.  
Someone fell, screaming. She glided towards him.  
Another rush of air, another body hit the ground.  
Screams. Curses.  
He was leaning over her. Narcissa reached out and pulled off the mask. He caught her wrist, and then faltered, let her. His face appeared.  
"No," he said. She smiled at him, an angel on the ground.  
A blonde girl, but the mask was too heavy. His bare face was gorgeous in the morning light.  
"Lucius," she said, then another silhouette surged from behind him. He twisted around, alarmed. A flash of red light and he fell on top of her.  
Red light. Red, overflowing, overwhelming.  
Narcissa closed her eyes. A canopy of red.  
She could see it. She could feel it.  
(Power. Perfection.)


End file.
